A Commanding Weaness

"There we go," Dr. Hiraga told the mess officer lying in her examination chair. "All done."

Mess officer Uma Vilchis yawned and stretched as she woke. She blinked a few times. For some reason, she was left with the persistent impression of bright, swirling lights shining straight into her eyes.

"Huh," she said sleepily. "That really was painless."

"Is that what people have been saying?" Dr. Hiraga smiled professionally as she made notes on her dataslate.

Uma nodded. "I've been hearing all about it for weeks."

"Weeks," Dr. Hiraga repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose it has been, hasn't it? I've been too busy to keep track, but we're finally almost done with the imp- I mean, the inoculation. You're pretty much the last one."

"The last one." Uma sighed as she sat up. "Isn't that just typical?"

"I'm sorry?" Dr. Hiraga said, taken aback.

"Oh, it's fine." Uma shrugged. "It makes sense. I guess the mess officer really is about the last person who needs an inoculation against some kind of alien virus." She visibly bucked herself up and slapped a forced smile on her face. "My apologies, doctor. I shouldn't make any of this your problem. I'm just... well, it's been a long tour. Not a lot of excitement involved for someone like me."

Not a lot of excitement back home either, although Uma left that part unsaid. The source of Uma's maudlin mood was simple: she was bored and felt hopelessly overlooked. A solution, unfortunately, was far less simple. As always, Uma tried to focus on her responsibilities as mess officer. On good food, and on being a warm and friendly face to all the weary crewmen who came to the Inyx's mess hall for rest and succor. Uma liked to think that she played a small but critical part in keeping morale high and making sure the ship continued to operate at peak performance.

But keeping the smile on her face was getting harder and harder. The long tour was wearing on people. The crew was tired and irritable. They didn't want to chat with their friendly mess officer. And lately, there had been another change in mood, growing steadily with each passing day. Uma couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was like everyone else was in on a secret joke Uma simply wasn't privy to.

Most of the crew were probably hoping that their mission would come to an end soon and that they'd be able to return home and see their friends and families again. For Uma, though, that prospect offered little comfort. She had a family, yes. Kids, even. But in recent years, her personal life had seemed just as unrewarding as her professional one. It wasn't bad, exactly. Just like being the mess officer on the Inyx wasn't bad.

Uma just needed a little excitement in her life.

"Not a lot of excitement, huh?" came a voice. "Why don't I help you with that?"

Uma looked around sharply. She could have sworn that she and the doctor had been alone in medbay, but now there was a third woman in the room with them. Uma couldn't imagine where she might have come from. It was like she had just appeared out of thin air. Strangely, Dr. Hiraga had no response whatsoever to the stranger's sudden appearance.

Stranger still, there was something familiar about her. Uma could have sworn she recognized her from somewhere. Was she on the crew? She didn't look like it, not with those technopunk clothes and that unruly, electric green hair. Maybe she had been in one of the briefings that the captain circulated from time to time. Uma barely paid attention to those. They weren't particularly relevant to the mess hall, after all.

"Hi," Uma said, for want of anything better to say. "Do I know you?"

"Sure you do," the punk woman promised as she slouched her way across the room. There was something distinctly sleazy about the way she spoke. "I'm the... uh... how about the 'uniform compliance officer'?" She snickered. "Yeah. I'm that."

Uma stopped trying to smile. Something was clearly wrong here. "That doesn't make sense. The Alliance doesn't have uniform compliance officers."

The woman just winked mischievously and lifted her hand with a flourish. "You do now."

She snapped her fingers.

At once, the room around Uma disappeared, drowned out by a vast, spinning, kaleidoscopic pattern that immediately tugged at her will, promising to steal it away. With her last few moments of consciousness, Uma reflected that, before, she'd been wrong. The lights hadn't been shining into her eyes. They'd been coming from behind them.

Then, even that thought was gone. The holo-implant Dr. Hiraga had just planted in Uma's brain drowned out her conscious mind, leaving her nothing more than an empty vessel for whatever thoughts and feelings Wasp wanted to pour into her.

And once Uma was completely hypnotized, the spiral began to pour. Shifting with every passing instant, it encoded its visual pattern with layers and layers of information that swiftly reprogrammed Uma's mind. The implant had long since been perfected. It admitted no resistance. Within just moments, Uma's deeply-formed ideas about propriety, hierarchy, and common sense were all formed anew.

Eventually, the implant switched off and Uma returned to consciousness. Blearily, the mess officer rubbed her eyes. The lingering effects were far worse than those of the procedure.

She frowned, confused. The lingering effects of what?

"I'm... I'm sorry," she said slowly, to the strange woman still standing in front of her. "I must have... I must have... um..."

"Don't worry about it," the woman offered a touch impatiently. "I was just telling you, I'm the uniform compliance officer. Uniform Compliance Officer Wasp."

"Wasp," Uma echoed slowly. Why did that name sound so familiar? Then she remembered, and it all fell into place. Of course it was familiar! Uma rose to her feet and saluted stiffly, embarrassed at her lapse of memory. "Uniform compliance officer! Forgive me."

"Don't worry about it," Wasp said. She was grinning from ear to ear. "At ease."

Uma relaxed gratefully. Still, she couldn't help but wonder why the uniform compliance officer had come here, of all places. Moreover, though, she was simply embarrassed to have forgotten about her at first. Forgetting about such an important, high-ranking officer was a major faux pas. Fortunately, Wasp didn't seem inclined to pull her up on it. Instead, she swiped the dataslate out of Dr. Hiraga's hand and started reading it. The doctor still didn't react.

"You're... right, the mess officer!" Wasp nodded slowly. "Uma Vilchis. I remember you from the crew roster. Not from the holodeck, though. Not much of a fantasy life, huh?"

"I suppose not, sir," Uma replied.

"That's kind of a shame." Wasp made a point of looking Uma up and down, plainly ogling her body. She wolf-whistled appreciatively. "I wish we'd gotten to know each other sooner. Could have had some fun with you. There aren't a lot of women built like you on military starships."

Uma shifted uncomfortably. The way Wasp was talking to her and looking at her seemed unmistakably sexual and inappropriate - but who was she to question such a high-ranking officer?

"Well, you know what people say, sir," she laughed nervously. "Never trust a skinny cook."

As mess officer, that distrust was one thing Uma never had to worry about. Uma was visibly, undeniably full-figured and plump, and always had been. It was all over: her face, her chest, her belly, her thighs. Uma was, quite simply, fat. She didn't dislike it, even if it sometimes made her self-conscious. Her figure had always been natural to her - not helped, admittedly, by the same love of food that had guided her to becoming a mess officer. A pair of pregnancies had only made matters worse, although, from the whispers that reached her ears, Uma understood that there were more than a few women aboard the Inyx who quietly appreciated the way the extra weight sat on her hips and her ass.

It was, admittedly, true, that her physique wasn't quite up to military regs. But even stern commanders like Captain Vasser tended to let that particular regulation slip. Nobody wanted to see a skinny cook in the mess hall -- and besides, it wasn't like she was in any danger of being sent into combat.

"Anyway," Uma added, hoping to put an end to Wasp's scrutiny. "I think you'll find my uniform entirely up to code, sir."

"Hm," Wasp mused. "Yeah, actually, no. It's not."

"It's not?" Uma blinked, dismayed. She didn't understand. She was always fastidious in her presentation. She looked down at herself, but saw nothing amiss.

"See, there's actually a brand new uniform for the mess officer." Wasp's grin somehow widened still further. She could barely keep herself from cackling. "It's just come into force. It's meant to help liven things up a bit. That's why I'm here, actually. To bring you up to speed." She threw an arm around Uma's shoulder. Uma was too distracted to register that she was a hardlight hologram. "Come with me. Let's get you fitted."

***

"D-d-d-," Uma stammered, blushing so deep she thought her face would melt as the sheer, unrelenting embarrassment she felt robbed her of her words, "d-d-do I h-h-have to?"

"Yes," Wasp replied impatiently. "It's the new uniform. Now, hurry up!"

Hands trembling, Uma could only nod meekly and keep working the long, red, soft rope around her own body. Completing the ties - the shibari, Wasp had called it - hadn't been easy. It was all new to Uma, but she was good with knots, at least, and Wasp had been a very insistent teacher.

As she wrapped the latest length of rope around her thigh, pulling it tight so it pressed into her soft flesh, Uma once again checked the diagram Wasp had pulled up for her on the dataslate. It was exacting, and following it had taken forever. Uma couldn't believe how long these regulations were getting, and she didn't understand why they were being posted on illicit holonet sites - but who was she to question the uniform compliance officer? At least it seemed like she was almost done, but Uma wasn't sure if that was a curse or a blessing. On the one hand, Uma was keen to put this humiliating ritual behind her.

On the other, if she kept going, she'd at least have more rope covering her body up.

Once Uma finished the knot, Wasp stepped back, looked the mess officer up and down, and clapped her hands together out of sheer glee. "Oh, yes! Looking good, girl."

Uma wanted to shrink into her own skin.

"I c-can't," she bleated. "Y-you expect me to g-go out there? L-like this?"

All the way down her torso and around her hips, Uma was bound tight with rope. It fell about her in symmetrical loops, artfully designed to best accentuate every aspect of the female form. The ties around her breasts pinched and lifted them, making them seem bigger, more prominent, infinitely soft and inviting. Across her stomach, the rope was worked into a diamond pattern, like netting, drawing attention to the pale, alluring skin beneath. Around her hips, the ropes pulled tight, pressing against Uma's curves and reminding her of their presence with every step.

On any woman, they would have looked unmistakably sexual. On Uma, it was on another level.

At Wasp's instruction, Uma had pulled the ropes particularly tight around her prodigiously soft body. The effect was magnificent. Everywhere, Uma's plump body bulged visibly between the gaps in the ropes. It was like she was begging for all who saw her to reach out and sink their fingers into her needy, yielding flesh. Around her stomach, it was especially visible. The rope bondage acted like lingerie, framing and shaping Uma's belly. It made her look like the very image of fertility.

Nothing could have been more desperately embarrassing.

"It's your uniform, Miss Vilchis," Wasp drawled, rising to her feet. "What kind of Alliance officer objects to their uniform?"

"It's... that's..."

Uma's mouth kept moving, but her brain froze up, paralyzed by the absurd contradictions in what she was hearing. It was ridiculous for rope bondage to serve as a military uniform. And yet, it did. That was what the uniform compliance officer was telling her. She could not think otherwise.

"B-but..." Uma said frantically, searching for any way out. "It's... it's indecent!"

"Indecent?" Wasp laughed. "Is that any way to talk about your uniform?"

Uma squeaked. "N-no, sir!"

"You should be proud of your uniform!" Wasp declared. "Isn't that right?"

Uma turned an even deeper shade of red and nodded miserably. "Y-yes, sir. But... I... proud?"

Wasp shrugged, a cruel smirk writ large on her face. "I simply don't see the issue."

Uma squeezed her legs together and shivered as she felt rope rubbing against her skin. She knew Wasp was right -- she was in charge of uniforms, after all -- but she couldn't help reaching for excuses all the same. "B-but it might... wouldn't it... um... d-distract the rest of the crew?"

Wasp sighed theatrically. "Maybe, admittedly, this is just a little bit too early for something quite so... open. Even if the rest of the crew have been implanted, they aren't broken in quite yet."

Uma had no idea what she was talking about, but a sigh of relief was on her lips as she sensed Wasp's resolve wavering.

"Fine," Wasp said eventually. "Have it your way."

"I can wear a different uniform?" Uma asked hastily.

"Oh, no." Wasp's smirk returned with a vengeance. Uma couldn't help but be struck by the feeling that she'd stepped into some kind of trap. "Not quite."

Just a few minutes later, Uma was walking gingerly through the Inyx's corridors, heading for the mess hall - and desperately praying that her embarrassment didn't show in her face.

They can't see, she told herself. They can't see what I'm wearing.

"Good afternoon, Uma!" someone called out, as Uma rounded a corner. A crewman. Uma didn't know their name, but she did recognize them. A regular friendly face at the mess.

"G-good afternoon!" As she replied, Uma tried her hardest to sound casual. It didn't work. Her voice was an octave higher than usual.

Mercifully, the crewman didn't comment. A strange look passed over their face, but they kept walking without saying another word.

Uma sighed with relief - but her relief was dashed as soon as she walked past another vent, and felt a breath of cool air passing over her skin. It was an unpleasant reminder of just how naked she truly was.

She was still dressed in the uniform Wasp had prescribed for her: intricate, bright red rope bondage, artistically wound around her entire body. The only difference was that nobody else could see it. Before sending her down to work her regular shift at the mess, Wasp had issued Uma with a portable holographic projector which, attached to one of the ropes on her torso, projected a perfect simulacrum of her old, standard-issue Alliance uniform.

In a way, it was an ideal solution. Uma's modesty was perfectly preserved.

And in a way, it solved absolutely nothing.

For instance, as Uma arrived at the mess and busied herself preparing meals for the crew who were just about to come off their shifts, she found she couldn't quite ignore the way one of those ropes snaked up between her thighs and pressed against her sex every time she moved.

More and more, it was becoming a distraction. A sharp bite of unwelcome pleasure that nipped at her over and over again, threatening to turn her words into moans and fill her face with unwholesome color.

Why did she have to wear this under the hologram? Uma kept asking herself that question. And she kept reminding herself of the only answer she had:

It was her uniform. She had no choice.

All Uma could do was take deep breaths in a bid to stay calm as she started serving the crew of the Inyx their meals. One by one, the weary crewmen came to queue up in front of Uma so she could dole out the meals she had carefully prepared earlier that day. As usual, most of them had little more to offer in return than a nod or a half-grunted acknowledgment. Normally, that would have gotten on Uma's nerves.

Now, she was desperately thankful.

They couldn't see what she was wearing. But reminding herself of that did Uma little good when she could still feel the cool air against her bare skin all over her body. When she could still feel the ropes. Whenever Uma looked down at herself, the illusion seemed paper-thin.

She was naked. Worse than naked.

And it was driving her crazy.

Every new face became a source of excitement. Every interaction became a fight to keep a cool, composed demeanor. It didn't matter what she told herself. Her brain would not accept that she was clothed. It knew the truth and screamed it at her, drawing sweat from her brow and slapping an uneven, nervous smile on her face.

"Hey, Uma!" came a familiar voice. Uma looked up and recognized a crewman -- Rhea -- who always took the time to chat. "How's your shift treating you?"

"G-good!" Uma squeaked, then winced. Her voice was horrifically uneven, and elicited a perplexed look in response. Uma's anxiety doubled. She felt it in her gut as a tight knot. "Um. How's... yours?"

"Fine, I guess," Rhea replied. Normally, their exchange might have ended there. But it was too late. Uma had aroused her close attention. "You OK? You seem a little... off."

"N-nope!" Uma tried even harder to control her voice. It only made matters worse. "I-I mean... yes! I'm OK. Just... um..."

She tried to think of an excuse. Her mind short-circuited. The only thought thundering through her head was a single conviction, irrational but all-consuming.

She can see. Rhea can see. She can see everything.

Rhea's eyes flicked up and down over Uma's plump physique. Uma could feel them stabbing into her, sharp as needle points. They seemed to strip away the ephemeral guise of the hologram, leaving Uma's tender, soft flesh bared for the shocked, lustful gazes of all who had come to the mess.

"We've been out here so long," Rhea offered sympathetically. "Maybe you should take a little more rec time? I'm sure the captain would-"

A cough from somewhere back in the queue interrupted them. "Hurry up!"

"Oops." Mercifully, Rhea hurried along, freeing Uma from her scrutiny. "Sorry!"

Uma only had a moment to gather herself before she needed to serve the next crewman. As she did, she was panting. She couldn't center herself. She just kept falling into the desperate thrill of her new uniform.

Then it occurred to her: wasn't this exactly the excitement she had been craving?

She choked down on the thought at once, guided by two contradictory impulses. One told her sternly that she wasn't the kind of pervert who would take excitement from something so utterly humiliating. The other whispered that she was exactly that kind of pervert if she found something as mundane as her uniform sexually humiliating.

Uma frowned, assailed by a moment of dizzy confusion. It was like she was on the cusp of grasping some deeper truth - but it never came.

And with the seemingly never-ending queue of hungry crewmen, she had no time to dwell on it. Uma turned to serve the next, and the next, and the next, and with each one, the anxious heat in her body only grew and grew. By the time the next familiar face appeared at the counter, the rope between her legs was pressing so hard against her cunt, every movement was blissful agony.

"Good day, Uma," said Lieutenant Kuznetzov, greeting the mess officer with a warm smile. "Everything running smoothly as usual?"

It was only recently that Lieutenant Kuznetzov had become one of Uma's reliably friendly faces. Before, she'd been one of the least approachable of all; a butch, imposing woman with an unreadable face and no words to offer but criticisms. Now, she was unfailingly bright and sunny. She'd grown her hair out into an appealing bob, set off against a full face of makeup. Instead of her uniform, she wore a pretty little dress that set off all her body's feminine features.